


Watching His Back

by Telaryn



Category: Leverage
Genre: Episode Tag, Friendship, Gen, Intervention, Past Abuse, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Protectiveness, Psychological Trauma, Secrets, Team Bonding, hints of self-injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-25
Updated: 2012-09-25
Packaged: 2017-11-15 01:18:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/521562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telaryn/pseuds/Telaryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the events of The Experimental Job, Hardison checks up on Eliot and find that the hitter isn't recovering as well as they'd hoped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watching His Back

  
“You ain’t okay, are you man?”

Eliot raised his head, and Hardison felt his chest ache at the sight of the red-rimmed eyes and three days’ worth of stubble. Eliot had often told them perfectly seriously that he only slept ninety minutes a night – if that was true, looking at him now Hardison figured he hadn’t slept in _days._ Only his voice was its normal irritated growl, glass on gravel with a splash of dirt cheap whiskey. “Now why wouldn’t I be okay?”

The job had done a number on all of them, but just then Hardison realized on a bone deep level that he’d gotten off easy. He’d seen himself on the road not chosen, and while he had some regrets for the most part he’d come away from the job secure in his life and the choices he’d made that brought him to this point. _Eliot, on the other hand…_ “Is there anything I can get you?” he asked, walking forward and taking a seat on the other end of the couch. “What do you need to start sorting through this?”

Eyes dulled by the pain of memories he could only guess at stared at him for a long moment, and Hardison thought Eliot looked like he was going to say something – was possibly going to ask him for help. The moment passed; the hitter’s entire body seemed to slump in defeat. “Go home, Hardison. I’ll be fine.”

He snorted, he couldn’t help it. Eliot stiffened in response, glaring at him. “When are you gonna get it?” Hardison asked sharply, knowing that even in this state – hell, probably more because of his sleep deprivation and obvious disorientation – Eliot could do all kinds of damage to him. He stood his ground though. _Wouldn’t leave my worst enemy to get through this alone, I’m damn sure not walking away from you._ “You have a family now, man. People who love you and want to help when you need it. Even if it’s something as simple as me calling Nate for you, I’m not leaving here without doing something to help you make this right!”

“Don’t call Nate,” Eliot said automatically, and then added almost as an after-thought, “Please.”

Hardison exhaled softly, feeling some of his surge of tension drain away. “Then what?” he asked, as gently as he could manage. “There’s got to be something I can do.”

Silence stretched between them. Hardison could see Eliot thinking about his offer – running through scenarios in his mind. The effect was fascinating and disturbing all at the same time; Hardison had accepted a long time ago that Eliot and Nate were two people he’d never be able to read with any sort of efficiency. Maybe once he was as good at body language as Sophie…

With effort he managed to keep his brain from noodling off on an absolutely useless tangent. Eliot was the focus. _Help Eliot._

Finally Eliot sighed again, seeming to reach a decision. “Go in my bedroom,” he said, scrubbing a hand across his face and looking as though he was trying to come back from someplace deep inside his thoughts. “Take a look at the things on my bedside table.” His expression hardened slightly, and Hardison couldn’t entirely suppress a shiver of fear. “You’re a smart guy. When you understand what they mean, why I have them, then come back here. If you still think you can help me…” He paused. “If you still _want_ to help me, I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

 _He’s thinking of killing himself._ Hardison couldn’t stop it – it was the first thought that came to mind. Something of the realization must have shown on his face, because Eliot laughed bitterly. “You won’t find a gun,” he said. “Or pills. I have a standing prescription for Zoloft from the Boston VA that I haven’t filled since I moved here.” He made a shooing motion with his hand. “Go. We’ll talk after.”

Getting slowly to his feet, Hardison crossed to the door he knew led to Eliot’s bedroom. _Who the hell do you think you are?_ he thought as he crossed the threshold. There were serious things at play here – serious, life threatening, _sanity_ threatening issues. He needed to call Nate, Sophie – hell even _Parker_ would probably be able to deal with what was happening to Eliot better than he would.

But none of the others had been willing to bypass Eliot’s wishes that he be left alone to recover from the stresses of the job in his own time and in his own way. Only Hardison.

There was enough natural light coming through the bedroom window, that he didn’t bother flipping the switch. The room was neat, the bed perfectly made. Hardison trailed his fingers across the dark comforter wondering if it had been done out of habit and routine, or if it was mute evidence of Eliot’s lack of sleep.

The bedside table held a lamp, an alarm clock, and four items that clearly didn’t belong there. A pair of heavy leather locking cuffs could have been explained away as being evidence of a really good date involving activities he’d only ever read about. _Hell, all of this could,_ he thought, taking in the sheathed knife and the bottle of whisky.

It wasn’t. Hardison took a moment to appreciate the irony of a night of extremely kinky sex being the less worrisome of the two scenarios he was dealing with. “Okay,” he said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Liquor’s obvious. Cuffs…” He’d been to enough of those kinds of websites in his day that he was pretty sure he understood what Eliot would have been using them for besides sex.

The knife…the knife was more problematic. Hardison slid out his phone and went immediately to his favorite search engine. Five minutes later, he had his answer and a deep, tight knot in the pit of his stomach.

He took the blade back with him into the living room, slapping it down dramatically on the table in front of Eliot. “This?” he asked, taking his seat again and trying not to let the flash of guilt at Eliot’s wince overwhelm him. “This shit ain’t happening man. No way. Not anymore.”

Eliot’s smile was dark and bitter, but his voice was calm when he said, “I haven’t used it.”

“No, but you’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Hardison said, his tone accusing. “That’s what you’re trying to tell me.”

The hitter shrugged almost indifferently. “It works. At least it did last time I…” His voice trailed off as Hardison snatched the knife away, tucking it against his side, away from Eliot. “That,” Eliot said, nodding at where Hardison had stashed the blade, “lets me sleep without nightmares.” He paused again. “Sometimes.”

Hardison was surprised at how encouraged he was by his friend’s admission that the knife hadn’t been a perfect system. Maybe there wasn’t a perfect system, but he was damn sure going to try to figure something out. “What can I do, man?” he asked finally. “Tell me. I’m here – whatever you need.”

He’d surprised Eliot – that much was obvious. Once again, he could see the wheels turning, see the other man adjusting his estimations of Hardison’s usefulness. “This isn’t going to be pretty,” he said at last.

“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?” Hardison quipped, raising a sardonic eyebrow. That surprised a laugh out of his friend.

“Fair enough,” Eliot agreed. “The biggest thing I need help with are the nightmares. I need sleep, but the job wore me down too much. I can’t control them.” Now it was his turn to snort. “Alcohol makes it worse, but I figured I’d give it a shot before I turned to…” He paused again. “Well.” His eyes met Hardison’s. “I need you to stay with me. Help me get some food in my system, distract me, that kind of thing.”

Hardison nodded. All stuff he could do. “What about the nightmares?” he asked. “I’m good, but I can’t get inside your head like that.”

“I’m hoping if I know you’re there, it’ll quiet things down in my head,” Eliot said. “I don’t need you to hold me or anything – just some sort of physical skin to skin contact while I sleep. Hand on my shoulder, that kind of thing.”

“Hey man,” Hardison said, reaching across and taking Eliot’s hand in his, “whatever you need. _Whatever_ you need. You’re not going through this alone.”


End file.
